Student Loan WIFE Ch. 02

Student Loan WIFE Ch. 02

Heye everybody, I'm glad that you guys came back for Chapter 2.

Some of you guys really lit up the comment section with fan theories and possible angles about the story direction. Don't get me wrong, I have a vision as to where this is going to go and don't plan on changing it, but I'd be lying if I said some of the creativity you guys have shown wasn't pretty damn impressive. Hell, maybe some of you guys should write a 10-chapter story! Many of you commented that 25 years is a bit much for the WIFE Act. Good news; there'll be a loophole in the law that will become VERY plot-relevant later on. Want to know more? You'll just have to keep reading along!

As always, feel free to comment down below. Got stage-fright? No problem, send me a private e-mail. I love hearing from you guys whether its about fan theories, pacing, world-building, or whatever else you guys want to sound off about.

Also: this is fiction, and not an endorsement of any of the topics discussed. Slavery is bad. Real-life noncon is bad. Don't do any of it in real life.

Bakersfield VT WIFE Center, 3 Months Since Chapter 1: The piercing alarm had rudely awoken Olivia from her sleep. She had just a few minutes to get down to the janitor's closet for her assigned duty. It was Tuesday, so she'd be responsible for cleaning the intake rooms just past the receptionist desk.

She scurried as much as her soft bare feet would allow her to move. Once at the janitor's closet, she started pouring hot water into the yellow mop bucket up to the etched line. She then tore-off an individua packet of cleaning solution, dumped it into the bucket, and used a new mop-head to mix the solution in.

The WIFE Center had a policy of using WIFEs who didn't sell within 10 days as labor, much in the same way that prisons do. The official reason given by the WIFE Center inventory managers-glorified prison wardens with a sanitized title-gave was that future buyers will want WIFEs with these skills; it's for your own good. Olivia suspected that it may have been to cut operating costs.

She donned the disposable boot covers over her bare feet and began walking towards the intake rooms. Thankfully the intake examination rooms were still empty, thus allowing Olivia to work quickly. The faster she could get her allotted rooms slathered in the anti-microbial solution, the faster she could eat breakfast.

Olivia started swabbing down the floors in each room, which didn't take too long as the rooms themselves were rather small. From the side of the janitor's bucket, she took a pair of gloves and saturated a lint-free wipe with a cleaning solution. She began to wipe down all of the high-touch and horizontal surfaces.

When she was done, she began walking the mop bucket back to the janitor's closet. She dumped out the soiled water and then started replacing the consumable supplies she had used; gloves, foot-covers, wipes, et cetera. She looked at the wall-clock.

Shit, gotta move.

She scurried down to the cafeteria to stand in line. Her fellow naked WIFEs shuffled towards the counter to receive their daily oatmeal. Olivia arrived to see a WIFE across from her, donned in an apron and holding a ladle. Besides her pre-intake cleaning job, the breakfast cooks were the only other WIFEs who woke up early. She silently accepted her daily portion and went to the cafeteria tables.

She sat down and started to eat her oatmeal, recounting her time spent here thus far. She hadn't enjoyed the early mornings or the cleaning gig, but it certainly beat staying in her holding cell all day; not that she had much of a choice to the contrary.

I kinda miss kitchen duty though Olivia recalled.

Originally, Olivia was bitter about how long she remained un-sold for, despite her best efforts to try to stay positive during the intake and ensuing days. She found herself resenting the typical archetypes who sold quickly; the conventionally-attractive blondes, the Latinas with sexy accents, the petite Asians, the girls with relatively-manageable debt loads. That last one stung the most. None of the other WIFEs had been all that caustic towards Olivia outside of typical women's cattiness. Her debt load, $177k, had seemingly given each prospective buyer sticker-shock hard enough to scare them away.

Olivia found it frustrating, but not unsurprising. After all, her debt load had hurt her dating prospects. She learned the hard way that eligible young bachelor's tended to avoid young women with loads of debt. A part of her still lamented that it shouldn't be this way for a woman who only wanted to pursue an education.

Olivia tried not to let her situation depress her too much, though that became harder with each passing day. The market for a frumpy, slightly overweight girl with a Corvette's worth of debt was dim, if it even existed at all. She originally cursed the genetic hand she was dealt; not being blonde, not having blue eyes, not having straight hair. A part of her still did, but her temptation to curse God for doing this to her waxed-and-waned.

Not today Olivia tried to reassure herself It's PreQualified Day.

WIFE Centers were known for inviting pre-screened buyers on-site who met eligible income and net-worth criteria to observe on-hand inventory that still hadn't sold. The thought was that buyers might be a little more forgiving if they observed a potential acquisition first-hand rather than through a flat profile on a screen. It was the same logic as free singles who eschewed dating apps in favor of in-person events. Previous Pre-Qualified Days had seen other WIFEs finally get purchased, so there was still hope.

After breakfast, Olivia scampered as quickly as her bare feet could pad against the tiled floor to the back wall of the cafeteria. Ivan from security was there waiting with a clipboard. He had begun taking roll-call. He noticed a discrepancy between his auto-generated list and the line of collared-and-nude women in front of him.

"Perez" Ivan called. "Sonya Perez?"

Several feet behind Ivan, a 5'6" caramel-colored Latina with long black hair and c-cup breasts contrasting against a physique that was halfway between comfy housewife and beach-ready stood up from her table.

"Jesus Fuck, can you let me finish my oatmeal?" Sonya clapped in her Brooklyn accent.

"Get in line" Ivan barked "You're holding us up."

"For fuck's sake, would it kill you to say please once?" Sonya shot back "Your mother didn't fucking raise you right."

"Don't make me repeat myself"

Sonya then took her tray and instead of sliding it into the garbage, she flung it at ivan with all the force she could muster. Remnants of prison-grade oatmeal covered Ivan's face and plate carrier. He spoke into his walkie-talkie.

"We've got a live one. Cafeteria."

Ivan then started walking down Sonya with a malicious intent in his eye. He grabbed her wrist and Sonya responded by punching him in the jaw with all the force she had. Ivan remained unharmed though the assault from a woman one hundred pounds lighter than him clearly enraged him. He quickly pinned her against a table face down.

Soon, two more guards arrived. Ivan looked up. "Perez got violent again."

One of the other security guards, a man of Ivan's stature but 15 years older and suffering from male-pattern baldness named Igor, turned to the other WIFEs "Take notes, you're about to see what happens to bad girls" as he blocked the exit.

Ivan was still using his monstrous force to keep Sonya pinned to the cafeteria table with one hand. With the other hand, he unbuckled his belt and shimmied out of his pants; the weight of his duty belt assisted gravity greatly. After his gear hit the ground with a loud thud, he pressed his hips into Sonya to keep her in place as he pulled down his boxers. His man-meat was fully awake. Ivan used his mushroom tip to tap the outside of Sonya's vagina a few times. However, he then spread her ass-cheeks apart.

"No. Don't. No you fucking don't!" Sonya commanded.

Ivan inserted his shaft into Sonya's asshole completely dry. His member was larger than Sonya could handle, as by evidenced her yelping and thrashing.

"Fuck. Stop. FUCKING STOP!" Sonya half-pleaded and half-ordered.

Ivan ignored her plea and slowly rammed himself further into her anal cavity. He then started thrusting. He pulled back gently, but every forward motion was a powerful thrust, his cock nearly hitting the end of her spinal cord. Sonya's eyes began to well up with tears after a few thrusts.

The witness-WIFEs gasped seemingly in unison as they watch Ivan anally rape Sonya for being disrespectful. Ivan had now started to increase the frequency of his thrusting. Sonya fought to break free, though her attempts became less resistive and less often.

"You girls are on the clearance rack. Don't forget it" Igor reminded.

Clearance rack? Olivia shuddered, knowing better than to bring attention to herself.

Much like prisons and refugee camps, reports of WIFE Center employees raping long-unsold WIFEs were becoming concerningly common. There was a clear incentive to treat the high-churn inventory (such as blonde sorority girls, ballroom dancers, lean Asian women, et cetera) humanely; they would be shipped often within hours of their profile going live. Conversely, the long-unsold WIFEs became a cost center in the eyes of government bean-counters. This left little sympathy for long unsold WIFEs.

Textbook dehumanization Olivia remarked internally while trying to decide if it was the intentional first step to all sorts of travesties or just an employee coping mechanism gone awry.

"Seriously" Sonya mewed like a kitten "Please. Just stop."

"Shut up" Ivan placed one hand on the back of her neck and moved her to completely flush against the table.

"Seriously, what the fuck?" Sonya screeched "It was just oatmeal" as tears rolled down her cheeks "I'm sorry". Sonya stopped trying to fight back the tears as her voice began to croak ".... fuck."

Ivan appeared deaf to her cries as he kept using the indebted second-generation American's asshole as a glorified fleshlight. Olivia and her fellow WIFEs looked on in horror as the neither security guards commanded them to move while simultaneously blocking their exit.

"I think they've learned their lesson" Ivan looked back up to Igor "Can you take them to yoga? They're behind schedule."

"Ladies, you heard the man, time for your daily yoga. Turn towards the door and start moving. Don't try to run" Igor said as he moved out of the doorframe.

The gaggle of captive women began moving towards the exit of the cafeteria under the watchful eye of Igor, who paced the women from the back of the line. As they walked, Ivan's heavy panting and eventual release inside of Sonya faded into the distance. The WIFEs did not need external commands from Igor regarding direction; many of them had been doing this same daily routine for a few weeks. Most new WIFEs knew enough to follow along and not ask too many questions, though the occasional Sonya-esque personalities popped up every so often.

Before long, they had reached the recreation room. At the front of the room was a WIFE; stark naked, barefoot, and collared. She was in her late forties, her laugh-lines contrasting against her toned physique. Sandra McClellan was hired by the WIFE Center as the in-house yoga instructor for her inmate job. As part of her responsibilities, she had already rolled out all of the yoga mats.

"There all yours" Igor stated. "Hit the call button if they stage a coup."

"Thank you, Igor" Sandra offered warmly "but I don't think that'll be necess-"

"You don't get paid to think, get started" Igor left the room without waiting for a response.

Sandra tried not to let Igor's brisk response lower her mood too much. She turned to the WIFE's "Alright girls, please stand at the first available mat, and we'll begin shortly" Sandra said in the most motherly tone ever.

Olivia stood at a mat, in the back-left quadrant of the room. As soon as the WIFE's had taken an available spot, Sandra began.

"We'll now start with some basic poses. Let's begin with Warrior 1, shall we? Now everyone, reach for the sky, touch your hands together, as you step forward. Hips forward, both feet on the ground."

Sandra scanned the classroom to see if the unsold-slaves were following along.

"Excellent" Sandra remarked. "And now, for our Submission Mantras. These will help focus your breathing, and help center your spirit. Now repeat after me: The right buyer will come"

"The right buyer will come" the class replied in unison.

"Excellent, my dears" Sandra exhaled. "Now to Warrior 2. Hips to the side, one arm in front of you, one arm behind. Lunge forward." She scanned for a moment "Becca, honey, lower your center of gravity."

"Yes Miss Sandra" Becca sheepishly answered.

"Good. Now everyone hold this pose as you all repeat after me: I surrender myself to the buyer, and seek his guidance."

"I surrender myself to the buyer, and seek his guidance" the class said back at once.

"Excellent girls, now everyone assume the downward-facing dog. This position is key, because many of your future owners will hope that you'll be able to hold this stance for an extended period" Sandra prompted.

Once the WIFE's had assumed the position, Sandra spoke once more "Now class, everyone say the following: I will withhold nothing from my buyer."

"I will withhold nothing from my buyer" the class retorted.

I will withhold nothing from my buyer Olivia mulled on the phrase. However, all she could think about was the fate of Sonya. Is she gonna be kept out of PreQualified Day? she wondered. Please God, just don't let them be any crueler to her.

Olivia caught herself Liv, just focus on yourself and what you can do. She stretched as much as her short limbs could reach Buyers want limber WIFEs, and limber WIFEs get bought and taken out of centers like this one.

The poor treatment of the tenured WIFEs by center staff had the second-order consequence of every other WIFE putting in extra effort to be available and appealing for PreQualified Day. After all, getting bought was a ticket out, even if it was by an unknown devil.

"Wonderful, my little doves" Sandra cheered "You'll make your eventual buyers so happy."

The buyers. Olivia chided silently. But then again, they are paying a lot for... she caught herself Liv, No. Don't lose yourself she commanded herself at least, not wholly... at least, not yet....

The class went on for 45 more minutes as Sandra led the debt-laden maidens through a series of stretching and submission mantras.

"And that wraps up our time together, my beloved sisters-in-submission" Sandra proclaimed as the WIFEs began lining up against the back wall waiting for Igor's return. "Please do not worry, my cherubs, for the right buyer will eventually come for us all."

The national data surrounding the acquisitions of WIFEs had largely supported Sandra's statement. Since the program had been enacted nationally 18 months prior, there had been a spike in WIFE buying at the outset of the program. The WIFE Act had a clause that capped the purchase of one WIFE per eligible man (defined primarily through financial verification) to prevent mate-hoarding by wealthy elites.

Despite their popularity, supply had yet to run low. Given the inelasticity of a WIFE's price being capped at her debt load, everyone who could afford a WIFE quickly bought one. The resulting sales bust was a lagging indicator of America's wealth inequality. But then, a noticeable change started happening.

Spurred on by the allure of captive pussy, millions of men who were not previously in the workforce voluntarily began mobilizing. Every and any sort of money-making venture that the typical man, especially a single man, could think of started happening. Men began taking moonlighting jobs as shelf-stockers and bartenders. Others enrolled in night classes in engineering courses or accounting. Entrepreneurial men had started taken sales courses and were willing to take commission-heavy gigs. Some guys turned to driving for ridesharing apps. Some men even started selling plasma or taking day-laborer jobs. Within months of the WIFE Act becoming law, Fox News seemed far less interested in using the phrase stay-at-home son as a punching bag as the increased economic output among formerly-unengaged men climbed noticeably.

As these men started scrounging together the liquid capital to buy a WIFE, WIFEs had started to move out of WIFE Center cells and into delivery vans once more. Luckily, supply hadn't been an issue; there was nearly always a heavily-indebted woman looking for a way out.

Sandra's right Olivia hoped to herself A buyer will find me, eventually...

Later That Day...

The cell doors opened in unison. Olivia was startled, despite knowing that the event was coming. Still, the sudden slam of the doors snapping open never got any less jarring.

"Ladies, out of your cells. Stand in front and don't move" Ivan barked, being audible from down the hall. Olivia did as she was told.

The WIFEs who were slated to be on display for PreQualified Day were marched down to the display aisle. The display aisle was a hallway of rooms the size of broom closets. They were well illuminated from the inside and had doors that only locked from the outside. Each door had a two-way mirror. The occupant of the room saw only a mirror, yet anyone standing on the outside could see inside perfectly.

Olivia took a mental tally of who was heading to the event.

Becca. Jocelyn. Meera. Sandra. Olivia scanned around But Sonya's nowhere to be found.

One-by-one, each unsold WIFE was marched into the nearest unoccupied cell in the display aisle. Once security locked them inside their cells, a second WIFE Center employee would come by with a manila folder and deposit it into a holder on the wall outside the cell. The folder's contents were simply a paper-based version of the WIFE candidate's profile on the portal, plus a few staff notes from her time spent at the facility. This space was normally used as a catch-all; anything from personality traits, interactions with the staff, or quirky trivia would be included. Best of all, the notes included on the paper file weren't included on the public profile until after the event. It was done that way to entice buyers to attend under the allure of having an insider scoop.

Olivia found herself gripped with a mild anxiety, though tried to reason her way out of it.

Liv, this is your ticket out. You need to be radiant. Radiant WIFEs get bought Olivia remarked quietly Be magnetic, Liv...

POV SWITCH: Derek

The dented, single-cab pickup truck rolled into the parking lot of the WIFE Center and took up two spaces before the driver cut the engine. The driver, a lanky 6'2 man in his early 40's with a five-o-clock shadow, stepped out and slammed the door shut behind him. He strutted through the revolving door of the WIFE Center, ignoring other pedestrians on the walkway. He strolled up to the receptionist.

"Name please."

"Stavers. Derek Stavers"

The receptionist pulled up his profile at her desktop. "Alright Mr. Stavers, the showing for PreQualified Day is down the hall. Take your first right and you'll see the row of glass doors. Remember, those are two-way mirrors and the rooms are soundproofed. The WIFE's can't see or hear you."

Derek strolled off without acknowledging the receptionist. As he walked, he recounted what led him to this moment. The income and asset verification, followed by setting up a buyer's profile. Recently, he received an e-mail inviting him to this PreQualified Day. The e-mail featured just enough promise to get him to overcome his inertia and come down from his isolated home in the backwoods of his small town two hours away.

The WIFE Act set criteria as to who could buy a WIFE. First and foremost, the buyer had to pass financial verification. This typically meant a review of the buyer's assets. Since this was a full-debt payoff program, the buyer needed to provide evidence that he had the liquid funds to cover the purchase of a WIFE. Secondary to that was providing proof of income, whether it was from paystubs or other income-generating assets, that the buyer could afford to feed and shelter his WIFE. The goal of the program was to encourage family formation, thus selling a WIFE to a low-income man was anti-thetical to that end.

When the WIFE Act was first signed into law by the President, there was a mad rush of buyers lining up to buy a WIFE. Derek knew that pandemonium would likely ensue at in-person events and stock-outs were likely to happen online. Thus, he bided his time and waited until the original frenzy had died down; it was no longer a metaphorical Black Friday. Hence, crowds were on their best behavior because merchandise had become readily available again.

Derek had checked the income and assets boxes despite not having had a proper job in years. Derek originally started working in construction as a general laborer right out of high school in the late 90's. He quickly found out that he didn't want to spend his life toiling in the elements all day, so at 21 he obtained his commercial driver's license and took a sales apprenticeship for Milwaukee Tools.

His blue-collar background gave him an edge over his fellow apprentices because he could actually talk shop with the guys and not just regurgitate corporate talking points. His commissions quickly reflected that; people could smell a fake a mile away though Derek passed the Smell Test easily. Derek learned early on that trust was everything in sales.

Derek witnessed some of the senior sales reps clear over $700k per year in good years, though they still lived paycheck-to-paycheck. There was always another dumb truck or fishing boat to buy. Derek swore that he'd be different.

On good months, Derek started pooling up his money, and eventually bought into a Subway franchise. His first franchise caught a great situational tailwind and he quickly bought three more franchises. Derek, still working in sales at the time and clearing $350k per year, wanted more. During the valley of the 2008 recession, he bought distressed duplexes using his Franchises as collateral rather than a liquid cash downpayment. In the beginning. Derek further diversified by simply parking money into the S&P 500, payday lending shops, and other ventures. Some worked out quite well, others flopped.

The historic bull run of the stock market starting in 2013 paired with the appreciation of his duplexes and consistent though unspectacular sales numbers from his Subway franchises had benefited his net worth handsomely. The COVID-19 pandemic had been a boon to his sales as stay-at-home crafters started buying tools in droves. While the commission checks were nice, Derek was far less dependent on them than he was nearly two decades earlier. Thus, in 2023 he had quit his job to focus solely on running his franchising and real estate portfolio day-to-day. His net worth hovering around a cool $4M with his income being nearly $300k per year. Derek had become the quintessential small-town millionaire.

At the beginning of the event, buyers were allowed to roam the display aisle. There was a flock of buyers that huddled around one cell. The salesman stood on a small platform. Curious, Derek opted to hang around and see what the fuss was about. One look and he could see why. Inside was a long-levered 6'3 D-cupped redhead.

"Alright buyers, please form a semi-circle so everyone can both see and hear. This WIFE candidate's name is Joceyln LaCroix. A Division III college basketball phenom who played three seasons of pro-ball in Europe!" The salesman scanned the crowd. "That's right, we've got a former pro athlete for sale! So, your eventual babies certainly won't be riding the pine!"

Jocelyn's measurables on the profile had not done her any favors; buyers typically do not buy women taller than them. However, buyers tended to be less metric-driven and more gut-feeling-based when seeing WIFEs in person.

Derek got a good look at her. As evidenced by the scar tissue on her right knee, she had suffered a catastrophic knee injury while playing EuroLeague women's basketball. What followed was a string of failed comeback attempts and botched surgeries before her professional basketball career had evaporated. She was forced to return to the United States due to her visa being conditional on working in Europe as a professional basketball player.

"And folks, have I mentioned that she's musically gifted as well?" the salesmen prodded "That's right, she majored in Music Theory and routinely played the violin and piano in the Center's common areas. That's cultural enrichment that's hard to fake, folks! She'd be great to keep around for entertaining guests!"

Well, no fucking wonder she couldn't get a job that didn't involve a round orange ball Derek thought.

Jocelyn struggled to find work in anything basketball or music-related after her final knee surgery. She had finished her undergrad with $87k in loans. While her basketball career and living with roommates had helped her keep up with the minimum payments, her loss of basketball-related income meant that the interest had ran away from her. Her debt now stood at $114k.

Not for me Derek concluded. I don't feel like getting into a bidding war over a low-skilled hyper-competitive slave.

Several display cells down from Jocelyn was another semi-circle crowd. This one was in front of a 5'2" burnt-caramel South Indian woman. her c-cup breasts contrasted nicely against a 24" waist and relatively wide hips. Another salesman started a pitch to a crowd of South-Asian men and a few White men whose IQ's were higher than their bodyweights.

"And here we have the lovely Meera!" Another sales rep used as his opener "Incredibly well-read as she majored in British Literature before completing a Master's in Library Science. Think about it, fellas; she'll never sound uneducated in galas, fundraisers, or any other type of swanky event!"

Swanky events? Derek winced THAT's the best fucking pitch you've got in rural fucking Vermont?

Derek tuned out the salesman's heavy-handed pitch and opted to flip through her file. He began to read her blurb. A second-generation American whose parents came here from India. She finished graduate school with $126k in debt.

"She's also worked as a small-town librarian for a few years. So, she's detail oriented, organized, has wide breadth of knowledge and good customer service skills" the salesman paused "Which are all par-for-the-course with a librarian! She can solve some IT-related problems at your home or small business, since librarians these days have to wear a lot of hats."

See? Your dumbass shoulda led with that! Derek complimented silently.

He continued to read her blurb. Laid off after 2 years as a librarian in Upstate NY due to the town's library budget being slashed by nearly 30%.

He handed off the file to another man in the crowd as he walked off.

Nah Derek concluded While the meta-skills are nice, they're not rare enough for me to get dragged into a bidding war over. He scanned the crowd and saw several Indian men especially against highly motivated buyers.

Derek wandered down the display aisle, casually perusing the women for sale. He then stopped at Olivia's cell. He eyed her from head to toe for a bit longer than a standard ogle. He noticed the lack of any other buyers around.

He decided to flip through her file, his eyes scanning the page for relevant details. Psychology BA. 4'11. 135 pounds.

$177k? Derek noticed. Yeah... that would do it.

He continued to read. MA in Early Childhood Education. Former elementary school teacher.

Wait... we might have something here. Derek reasoned as his internal lightbulb lit up.

He flipped through the file with a renewed vigor. Bloodwork, orthopedic exams, dentistry.

Come on, come on, Derek lamented. Get to the important stuff.

The sales associate approached Derek as he vigorously flipped through the manila folder as if it owed him money.

"Hello sir!" the salesman approached, he stood next to Derek facing Olivia "Yeah, she's a girl-next-door, isn't she? You know in her free time she's an avid-"

"Yeah, that's great dude" Derek cut off "Tell me about her cycles. She fertile?"

The salesman seemed a bit taken aback by Derek's abruptness.

"Well, she's had her regular cycles since she's been here, and her OB/GYN reports showed zero abnormalities. She tested negative for birth control as well."

"Good to know. Now what have you guys had her doing here? And don't give me your bullshit about group therapy" Derek stipulated "What jobs has she been doing here"

"Currently she's been disinfecting intake rooms for the last four weeks. For the six weeks before that, she was working in the Center kitchen, cooking large batch meals for her fellow WIFE candidates and staff members."

Derek piqued a bit upon hearing her previous assignment. He plopped the folder back into it's wall-mount.

"I'm ready to talk some numbers" Derek paused to take his eye off of Olivia's file to stare down the sales rep" If we can agree on price."

"Sir, there isn't a whole lot that we can do I'm afraid-"

Bullshit, everything is negotiable

"Alright fine, lose a sale" Derek said "Have fun making rent this month without a commission."

"Sir, it isn't that simple-"

Derek turned around and headed back towards the receptionist desk "Well, looks like I won't be buying."

"Sir!" the salesman pursued "Sir! Let's not be hasty now!"

Derek turned on the heel of his boot and dug his index finger into the sternum of the salesman. "Listen fuck-o, I'm not paying $177,000 for her" Derek let that hang in the air "Now we can talk numbers Or, you can lose a sale." Derek paused long enough to stare down the salesman "are we clear?"

"I see" the salesman gulped before pointing to a branching hallway that led to the old hospital's finance wing "Let's talk, shall we?"

"Yeah... let's."

Soon enough Derek was in the salesman's office. As soon as he sat down, he started "So of her loans, about half are private. That'll be easy. I'll offer 30 cents on the dollar."

"That's a bit aggressive, sir"

"And?" Derek shot back "You know private lenders are quick to settle once their borrowers are insolvent."

"Fair point. I can't guarantee that, but it sounds plausible." The salesman started typing out an offer sheet "Alright so she had $92k of private loans. So, your offer stands at $27,600 to settle those. Thus, the grand total you'd be paying would be $149,400 for her."

"Except I'm not paying that either" Derek said as he flipped his chair around and leaned on the back of the chair towards the salesman "Not by a fucking longshot."

"Sir, I'm not sure what you're suggesting but-"

"I'll pay 35% of her federal student loans" Derek baited "and not a fucking dollar more."

"Sir, the Department of Education does not normally come down that much to settl-"

"And the Department of Education also isn't in the business of indefinitely housing and feeding non-moving inventory, now are they?"

The salesman loudly exhaled "Alright, let me get that down" he pounded his keyboard a bit harder than normal "So of her $85,000, you're offering to settle for $29,750. That'll bring your total to $57,350."

"Sounds good to me, Chief. Send it"

"Alright I can do that. I feel obligated to say that settlement offers aren't guarantee-"

"Nothing's guaranteed" Derek chided "I said send it"

"Very well" the salesman finalized the offer sheet then handed a tablet to Derek "Here's where you can review and sign the offer sheet. If accepted, you'll be agreeing to pay $57,350. Upon successful receipt of the funds, Ms. Mulford will be legally transferred to you."

Derek grabbed the tablet and started scrolling, making sure to heavily scrutinize the line items.

God fucking help you if you try to pad anything in this offer sheet Derek monologued.

Derek used his index finger to sign the tablet and hit Confirm after verifying that there weren't any high-margin-low-utility extras added on. He handed the tablet back to the salesman.

"Alright, I should have some news within the next hour or so."

"Hopefully good fuckin' news, if you wanna pay your fuckin' light bill" Derek taunted "You're comin' up on the end of the month you know."

"Right" the salesman noted-out-loud "Until then, you can have a seat in our waiting room or visit the cafeteria if you'd like."

"Sure, I'd love to pass the fuckin' time with some pamphlets from the 90's about safe sex" Derek said sarcastically as he stood up from the chair and returned it to its original orientation. He strutted out of the office.

"Sir, the waiting room is-'"

"I can read a fuckin' sign, guy."

Roughly 90 minutes went by, and Derek was lounging back in his cafeteria chair, scrolling his phone when the piercingly loud intercom sounded.

"Mr. Derek Stavers. Please come to the finance office. I repeat, Derek Stavers, to the finance office."

That's my cue

Derek got up and left his trash on the table, making no effort to clean it up. A naked WIFE soon swooped on his table to throw away the snack wrappers as Derek strolled away. He rolled into the finance office with his chest out and plopped himself into the chair without waiting to be invited to.

"Well?" Derek prompted.

"Well Mr. Stavers, I have good news. It looks like your offer of $57,350 has been accepted. Congratulations."

"Man" Derek victoriously exhaled "Gotta love reckless banks and desperate Feds!"

"Mr. Stavers, I'm ready to take your wire-transfer information now, if you have it" the salesman said as he handed a tablet to Derek.

Derek pulled out his wallet and removed a crumbled piece of paper with the numbers hand-written on it. He typed them into the tablet, double-checked the final bill of sale, and hit Confirm before handing the tablet back to the salesman.

After a few more moments, the salesman received a confirmation screen "Alright, everything appears to be in order. Once the wire transfer is complete, usually within a business day or two, we'll be in touch to arrange drop-off logistics. We'll keep her in quarantine until then."

"Put in your fucking CRM that I want her delivered blindfolded. I don't want her gaining a sense of direction."

The salesman typed Derek's comments into his notes. He then stood up to shake Derek's hand. Derek shook with a grip that was entirely too hard. "Pleasure doing business, Mr. Stavers."

"Believe me, the pleasure was all mine" Derek then released the salesman's hand and strolled out of the office without a care in the world.